


Homecoming

by as_with_a_sunbeam



Series: Homecoming [2]
Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Vomiting, enslaved character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/as_with_a_sunbeam/pseuds/as_with_a_sunbeam
Summary: Eliza and her family are thrilled to finally have her husband home from the war, but Hamilton is far from well. She cares for him.





	1. Chapter 1

The bed was empty.

Eliza halted in the doorway with the tea tray, looking about the room with confusion. Medicinal bottles still cluttered the side table beside the water basin. Eliza’s dressing gown still hung over the back of the chair by the bed. The stale air of the room was just the same as when she’d left. Only her husband was missing.

She placed the tea tray down on the bureau and pressed her palm against her back in a futile effort to ease the ache that had sat there since she entered her seventh month of pregnancy. Where had he gone? She moved towards the bed, her brow wrinkled with worry. The bedding was disordered; the sheets and pillow case were damp with sweat.

The creek of a floorboard caught her ear, and she turned to see Hamilton braced against the door frame, face pale as death and shiny with perspiration.

“Hamilton!” she gasped, hurrying towards him as fast as her protruding belly would allow. “What are you doing out of bed?”

He coughed roughly into his fist, but then smiled weakly. “I went for a bath,” he answered when he had his breath back.

“A bath,” she repeated flatly. Unbelievable. He nodded. His smile made his blue eyes glitter. She gazed up at his handsome features and debated whether to kiss him or slap him. Perhaps both. “Do you know how worried I was? I didn’t know where you were.”

His smile dimmed. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he said sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

The apology dispelled some of the urge to slap him, so she leaned up to kiss him softly. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt his muscles trembling under the strain of standing. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I’m all right,” he whispered, but he didn’t object when she slipped an arm under his own to brace him.

He refused to get into the bed. Instead, he sunk into her chair, his head tipping back and his eyes falling shut. “Diana promised to bring fresh bedding,” he explained. “The sheets are soaked. I believe my fever has finally broken.”

Before she could say anything, the house keeper entered carrying a bundle of fresh linen. “I have some nice fresh sheets for you, Colonel Hamilton. I’ll have these changed in just a few moments,” Diana cooed reassuringly. “Are you feeling better after your bath, sir?”

“Much improved, thank you,” Hamilton replied, giving the middle aged servant a charming smile. Diana, who Betsey had rarely seen so much a smile during the whole of her childhood, quite nearly giggled at Hamilton’s attention. Hamilton seemed to have that effect on the whole female sex. Diana must have been the one to draw the bath for him when Eliza went for refreshment downstairs, she realized.

“Betsey, darling, would you open the window?” he requested as they watched Diana efficiently stripping the bed.

“It’s December. You’ll catch your death,” Eliza refused.

“Just for a few minutes?” he pleaded, turning those eyes back to her. “I could do with some fresh air.” His palm moved gently over his middle, gliding over the soft material of his night shirt to settle over his stomach. He’d told her before that the heat from the roaring fire and close air of the room made him feel queasy.

“One minute,” she agreed reluctantly. She cupped his cheek fondly and kissed his temple before going to the window. After she’d pried it open the icy air of winter rushed through, causing goose pimples to rise immediately on her arms.

Hamilton gave a sigh of relief behind her.

“There, now, Colonel. The bed is all ready for you,” Diana announced as she gathered up the sweat soiled sheets for the wash.

“Thank you, Diana,” Hamilton said, smiling again.

The stern house keeper seemed to fight down a girlish giggle once more. She eyed Eliza before taking leave of the room, warning, “Don’t leave that window open too long, Miss Betsey.”

The bedroom door closed behind her with a click.

“Do you think she will ever take to calling you Mrs. Hamilton?” Hamilton asked, chuckling softly.

“I don’t think she likes thinking that Angelica and I are old enough to be married,” Eliza explained. “She’s been with us since we were infants.”

The mirth disappeared from his face quite suddenly. She winced as she realized her misstep in mentioning the purpose of Diana’s purchase and the length of her servitude. When they were first married, Hamilton had explained his distaste for slavery. He told her the cruelty he had witnessed in the Caribbean, and about the little boy he had grown up with who had been sold immediately upon his mother’s death. Eliza agreed with him more the more she considered the issue, but neither of them were in any position to demand her parents release their servants.

She turned towards the window.

“Please, darling, just a few minutes more. It really does help,” Hamilton asked as he levied himself off the chair with a groan.

“At least get under the covers,” Eliza sighed. “I’d hate to get you back from the war only to be widowed by your insistence on fresh air.”

Something dark passed over his expression, as it always did when she mentioned the war, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by a his sunny smile as he eased into the newly made bed. “A great improvement,” he declared as he settled in. “When I woke, I was bathed in sweat and my stench offended even me.”

“I brought up some tea,” she told him as she helped arrange the blankets over his legs. “Although it’s probably ice cold by now.”

His nose wrinkled lightly. “Thank you, dearest, although I wouldn’t much care for tea at the moment anyway,” he said.

She worried about his persistent nausea. He’d lost at least a stone during this bout of illness, and he’d been skin and bone to begin with. “Is there anything you would care for?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

He cocked his head to the side as if considering. “Something sweet,” he decided seriously. “Perhaps something chocolate, or, maybe, some cherry tarts?”

Eliza let out a fond chuckle. “I thought your stomach was upset. Really, you were just holding out for sweetmeats.”

“The cool air helps tremendously,” he told her with the same serious expression, although it soon gave way to the eye crinkling smile that made her knees feel wobbly.

She kissed him again. “I’ll see if I can find you some sweets,” she promised.

A loud rap on the door startled them both. A moment later, Philip Schuyler poked his head around the door.

“How is my favorite son in law?” he asked loudly, stepping into the room and leaving the door ajar.

Eliza glanced furtively at the open door, hoping Angelica and John weren’t in earshot. Hamilton laughed heartily, as though her father had just told a great joke. “I won’t tell John, sir,” he answered easily.

Her father look unconcerned with whether Hamilton mentioned it to John or not. He may have accepted John into the house, but he still wasn’t entirely happy with the man who had eloped with Angelica against her father’s will. Eliza had spent her life in Angelica’s shadow. She still wasn’t used to this new world order, where she basked in Hamilton’s glow while Angelica withered in the shade of disapproval.

“How are you feeling, son?” her father repeated, voice softer.

“Stronger every day, General,” Hamilton replied. He’d been saying that ever since he came home from Yorktown. He’d rasped it out while a doctor hovered at his side, monitoring his pulse with a worried expression. Still, he did seem better today.

“Good,” Philip nodded.

“Hamilton was just saying he felt well enough to try some of mother’s cherry tarts, Papa,” Eliza reported.

Philip clapped his hands with pleasure. “How wonderful! I’m sure Kitty will make you a special batch. They’re delightful when their still warm from the oven.”

“If memory serves, they’re delightful any way, sir,” Hamilton replied.

Philip laughed. “Betsey, my beloved girl, why don’t you go ask Mama to cook up a batch? I’ll keep your young man company while you’re gone.”

He wanted to talk business of some form, she sensed, likely something related to the army or Hamilton’s future career as a lawyer. She snuck a glance at Hamilton, meeting his eye. He’d been so ill and tired, she didn’t want him forced into a conversation he wasn’t up to having.

He gave her a little nod. “Bring back a plate full,” he requested.

She’d be surprised if he so much as nibbled a corner, but she promised him a heaping plate. She closed the window quickly, before Hamilton could voice a complaint, then stepped outside. The door clicked behind her, followed immediately by the sound of her father’s low, raspy voice.

She began to make her way down the stairs, smiling to herself at her father’s fondness and enthusiasm for her husband. In Morristown, two years ago now, her father had been beside himself with joy when he heard the name of her suitor. Still unmarried at the age of twenty-two, Eliza had sensed his concern with her prospects. When she related that Colonel Hamilton, of General Washington’s staff, had been courting her, Philip had given her the smile until then reserved for Angelica when she made a particularly clever comment.

And, when word reached them a few weeks ago that Hamilton had lead the attack on one of the British forts and thus helped secure the surrender at Yorktown, her father’s chest had puffed up with pride. _My son, the hero of Yorktown_ , he took to saying at every available opportunity, his face beaming. She sobered as she remembered her eldest brother John’s face upon hearing that for the first time. Her other brothers, Philip and Rensselaer,  hadn’t looked terribly happy either. Never mind Angelica’s husband, even her father’s natural born sons felt displaced by her father’s regard for Hamilton. She wondered if Angelica had felt guilty when she had been the object of such apparent favoritism.

The kitchen was humming with the sounds of a great dinner being prepared. Christmas and the New Year were fast approaching. The number of guests in their home always exploded at this time of year. Kitty Schuyler stood calmly in the center of the ordered chaos.

“Do you need something sweetheart?” her mother asked upon seeing her.

“Hamilton’s feeling up to trying some food. He requested something sweet, perhaps some of your cherry tarts?” Eliza asked, kissing her mother’s cheek.

“Of course!” Kitty cried, face lighting up. “I’ll make him some fresh right now. They’re best warm from the oven.”

Eliza held in a laugh at her mother’s inadvertent echo of her father. After two and a half decades of marriage, the two seemed mentally linked. She wondered if she and Hamilton would be like that in twenty years or so.

“Should I help with anything?” she asked, looking around at the servants bustling around as they prepared for the latest grand dinner.

“No, no. You should have a seat and rest,” Kitty urged. Her hand rubbed fondly at Eliza’s prominent belly as she nodded to a stool.

Eliza sighed and sat down, rubbing her own hand over her round stomach. The idea of childbirth was nerve wracking, but part of her couldn’t wait for it to be over. She’d always been hardy and active. Ever since she’d realized she was pregnant, however, people had been treating her like an invalid. Everyone wanted her to rest, even Hamilton. Resting was terribly boring when there was nothing wrong with you. She rested an elbow on the counter, her head on her fist, and contented herself with waiting.

Not too long after, Eliza was climbing the steps with a heaping pile of tarts still hot from the oven. She knocked once on the closed door to announce herself and then pushed inside. “Fresh cherry tarts, warm from the oven, as requested.”

She looked up to see her father sitting in the chair by the bed. He held a finger to his lips and nodded to the bed. Hamilton had fallen asleep again.

Eliza hesitated, then shook her head. “We should wake him. He needs to eat something.”

Her father reached a calloused hand towards her husband, laying it gently on his brow. He shook his head. “Still feels warm to me, poor fellow.”

“He said he thought his fever had broken,” Eliza said, disappointed at this new setback.

“Well, if it did, it’s come back.” Philip sighed and looked at her. “Still, perhaps you’re right. It’s important for him to eat. Keep his strength up.”

Eliza stepped up to the bed and shook Hamilton by the shoulder gently. “Sweetheart? Wake up.”

“Mm,” he hummed, turning his face away.

“Hamilton, darling, you need to wake up.”

“Son?” Philip added, patting his large hand over Hamilton’s slender chest lightly.

“What?” Hamilton asked, voice slurred with sleep.

“Food, sweetheart,” Eliza explained. “You need to eat.”

His brow wrinkled, but his eyes blinked open. Eliza leaned in to press a kiss to his soft pink lips. As she pulled away, his lips quirked up. “That’s the way I want to wake for the rest of my life,” he whispered hoarsely.

Philip cleared his throat beside them.

“My apologies, General. I didn’t mean to drift off during our talk,” Hamilton said.

Philip waved a hand as if to banish the words. “Think no more of it. We’ll talk more when you feel better. Until then, rest, and do as my dear girl says. And that includes eating.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I will leave you to her tender ministrations. Be well, son.” Philip rose with a hint of a wince, no doubt from putting weight on his gouty toe. Eliza frowned at him, which prompted him to chuckle. “Focus your maternal inclinations on your husband, my dear. I get plenty of those looks from your mother.”

He walked around the bed, pressed a kiss to her brow, then patted her belly twice before leaving the room.

Eliza collected the plate and settled onto the bed, holding out a cherry tart to her husband. His pale complexion turned slightly green as he looked at the treat, but he took it obediently. He stared down at it for a long moment. Finally, he held it to his lips. He took a long breath through his nose and then bit off a corner. Eliza patted his leg approvingly.

“What did Papa wish to speak to you about?” Eliza asked after he’d finished chewing his second bite.

“General Washington has settled into his winter encampment with the army. Your Papa wanted to know if I intended on joining him.”

Eliza felt her heart skip a beat. Joining Washington? But the war was over, surely? He was supposed to be home for good now. “And? Do you?”

He shook his head, his bright blue eyes locking with her own. “No. Not unless the war starts up again, and I don’t see how it could.”

Papa surely knew that more fighting wasn’t likely. “Why did Papa think you might rejoin General Washington, then?”

“I had asked him to send a letter to the General yesterday. I needed to request additional leave, as I haven’t yet resigned my commission. I assured your Papa that I would, once I was sure the fighting was over. We’ll know more this coming spring.”

Eliza didn’t like the hinted possibility of losing him to the army again, but she fought down her concern. The fighting was over. Hamilton said so, and Papa. He was just being a good soldier, she consoled herself.

Hamilton looked down at the tart held loosely in his hand, then back up at her. “I can’t finish this,” he said apologetically.

“That’s all right,” she assured him, placing the unfinished pastry back on the plate for him.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, suddenly, Hamilton grabbed her wrist. “I need a basin,” he gasped.

Eliza’s eyes widened and she scrambled to grab the water basin on the side table. She shoved it before him just in time for him to lean forward and heave. A watery mix of undigested tart and the endless tea she’d been forcing on him splattered into the bowl. He heaved a second time, bringing up little more than spit and bile. Then, for several minutes, he heaved dryly over the bowl, retching and spitting until his face was red and shiny.

He reached a shaking hand out to the handkerchief sitting on the side table. He closed his eyes as he wiped the remnants of vomit from his lips and sat back.

“Are you done?” Eliza asked softly.

He nodded once.

She placed the basin on the side table to be disposed of momentarily.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His cheeks were still pink, but she thought she sensed embarrassment as the root cause now. She shook her head and reached for his hand.

 “Don’t be embarrassed. I did plenty of that in the early days of my pregnancy. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

His face fell even more. “I should have been here with you.”

She winced. She was trying to make him feel better, not bring up feelings of guilt. “I was all right. And you were fighting to make the country safe for our child. A much greater use than sitting aside of me while I was vomiting.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded.

“I’ll go clean this out, and bring the tarts downstairs again for now,” she announced.

Hamilton shook his head once. “Leave the tarts. I’m going to try to eat again in a few minutes, once my stomach settles a little more.”

“Are you sure?” Eliza asked.

He nodded. His palm splayed over his middle again as he confessed, “I think some of the pain is from being so empty. I really need to eat something.”

She felt her heart melting for him and she reached out to squeeze his free hand. “Perhaps something else would be better, something lighter?” she suggested. Cherry tarts didn’t seem like the most stomach friendly food to her. “Some broth?”

“They…they taste all right when they…come back up,” he said hesitantly.

Ah. She could sympathize with that. “All right. I’ll just clear out the basin, then, shall I?”

He nodded.

“Do you want the window open again?” she asked gently.

“I thought I would catch my death?” he replied with a smirk.

“I just want you to feel better.” 

“Another breath of cool air may help.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand again before standing and going to the window. Fumbling with the latch, she wrenched it open once more. The icy air felt even colder than before, and she could see her breath as she exhaled. Just a few minutes, she promised herself. He wouldn’t be harmed by just a few minutes of cold.

After she’d rinsed the basin in the kitchen, she returned to the room and sat by her husband while he tried to eat again. In the end, he managed to keep down about a third of a tart. Not much, but more than he’d taken in a while, so she decided to call it a victory. He fell asleep soon after.

She dressed for dinner quietly, not wishing to disturb him. Many guests had arrived for the meal when she made her way downstairs once more. Blessings and congratulations were showered upon her, along with well-wishes for her ailing husband.

“He’ll be up and about in no time,” her father interjected into one such conversation after they’d sat to eat. “We’re all so very proud of him.”

“I had hoped to be regaled with the victory at Yorktown,” Judge Livingston replied. “I’m sorry Colonel Hamilton is so unwell.”

“I’m sure Papa could tell it to you,” Angelica said with a teasing smile from a few seats down. “He’s spoken of little else the past weeks.” Nothing but good humor showed in her sister’s face, but Eliza wondered if she was hiding hurt feelings.

Her father didn’t seem concerned at all. He welcomed the invitation, and immediately launched into the tale he’d pulled from Hamilton not long after he’d stepped through the door of the Pastures. Eliza glanced back at her sister and caught her eye. Angelica grinned at her. Eliza grinned back, silently thanking God for granting her the perfect sister.

After the meal, they retired to the parlor for conversation and cards. Dinner had been later than usual to accommodate traveling guests and it was well past dark as they settled into the warm room. Eliza remained long enough to be polite, then excused herself, claiming fatigue. “Sleep well, my beloved child,” her father wished as she left the room.

“Good night, Papa,” she responded.

The quiet of the upstairs house was a welcome relief from the lively conversation below. She entered the bedroom to find Hamilton still sound asleep in the bed. She undressed in silence, pulling on a nightgown and then blowing out the candle. The bed was warm from her husband’s body heat, and she curled against him. She dropped to sleep quickly.

Movement woke her. She blinked open her eyes to find the room still dark. Hamilton tossed beside her, rolling onto his side, then onto his back again, muttering. He whimpered. Sitting up quickly, she reached for him.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” she cooed softly as she shook his shoulder. “It’s only a dream.”

“No,” he whimpered again.

She placed her palm against his cheek, then jerked it away, startled by the heat. He was burning up with fever. “Hamilton,” she said with more urgency.

“Mm…’liza?” he slurred.

“Yes, darling,” she confirmed.

“’liza, I’m cold,” he said plaintively. “I’m so cold.”

She could feel him shivering, his whole body tense as he shook with chills. She pushed the blankets back and moved to get up. “I’m going to ask Papa to send for the doctor,” she told him.

“No,” he groaned miserably. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me. I’m so cold.”

Worry sat heavy in her gut. “You need the doctor,” she argued.

“Please, hold me. Just hold me.” His teeth were chattering, and his breath was coming in staccato gasps, as though he were standing outside in the freezing cold with no protection.

She closed her eyes to fight back tears, then adjusted in the bed so she could wrap him in her arms. She’d go get Papa when he fell asleep again, she decided. He shook horribly in her arms. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and his skin felt dry and frightfully hot. The baby kicked at her, unsettled by her anxiety, and she fought to take calming breaths. She rubbed her hands up and down her husband’s back, hoping to relax and soothe him.

 He went limp in her arms after some time. She eased her arm out from under him, kissed his brow quickly, then hurried from the room towards her parents. Her father woke with a startled shout, sitting straight up in bed.

“Papa, you need to send for the doctor,” she said as soon as she was sure he was awake. Philip wasted not a moment, jumping from the bed and hurrying into action. Her mother got up as well, and had Eliza go downstairs to sit in the parlor with some tea to calm her.

“He’s very strong, darling. He’ll be all right,” Kitty soothed when the doctor finally arrived and hurried upstairs.

The doctor stayed upstairs with Hamilton for well over an hour. Twice Eliza rose to go check on them, and twice her mother had her sit again. “Leave the doctor to his work. Once he’s done you can stay with Hamilton to your heart’s content.”

Finally, the doctor came down, conferring quietly with Papa. The two men stopped in the parlor and the doctor gave Eliza a weak, closed-lipped smile. “You did well to send for me, Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband’s fever had climbed dangerously high.”

“Is he all right?” Eliza demanded.

“His fever has abated somewhat. I gave him laudanum to help him rest. That will keep him asleep for some time, so don’t fret if you have trouble waking him. He should be all right now.”

Eliza smiled shakily at the doctor. “Thank you.”

Her father showed the doctor out, and Eliza hurried upstairs once more, eager to see for herself that her husband was out of danger. The room was illuminated by a freshly stoked fire when she re-entered. Hamilton was on his back, his face slack in his drug-induced sleep.

She crawled back into the bed. Settling onto her side, she gazed at his profile. Hamilton’s hands rested on his stomach and she reached out to hold one in her own.

“Hi,” he mumbled, his eyes opening a sliver to look at her.

Eliza smiled, surprised. “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

“Almost.”

“Just rest, sweetheart.”

With what looked like real effort, he scooted down in the bed until his head rested on her chest. One of his arms looped around her belly protectively, his thumb stroking at her side. He let out a long breath and whispered, “Better.”

She held him against her, relishing the feel of him in her arms. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

She felt him nod against her. He muttered, “Me, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

A loud knock sounded on the bedroom door. Eliza winced when the needle from her embroidery slipped, pricking her finger. She placed the embroidery on the side table, sucked at the little well of blood from the pinprick, and called, “Come in.”

Angelica opened the door, followed closely by Peggy, who closed it behind her. Eliza smiled at her sisters and adjusted in the bed, sitting up as much as possible under the huge bulk of her stomach. Angelica sat in the chair by the bed, but Peggy climbed onto the bed itself, sprawling out across the foot.

“How are you feeling?” Angelica asked.

Eliza sighed, laying her palms across her belly. “Enormous,” she said simply.

“You look ready to pop,” Peggy commented with a grin.

“Thank you,” Eliza replied sarcastically.

“It should be any day now,” Angelica agreed, giving her an appraising look. “Mama has Diana on high alert.”

“I’m quite ready for it to be over.”

The doctor had confined her to bed last week, and she was beginning to go mad with the isolation and boredom. Of course, it happened just as Hamilton began to feel well enough to be up and around, so she was deprived even of his company during the day.

“Your husband is feeling much better,” Peggy commented, as if reading her thoughts. The grin was still firmly in place as she added, “You should have seen him at dinner.”

Angelica grinned as well. Eliza looked between her two sisters, her brow wrinkling. “What did he do at dinner?”

“He ate,” Angelica said simply.

Peggy giggled.

“He ate?” Eliza repeated, not getting the joke.

“And ate, and ate, and ate,” Peggy explained. “He must have had four helpings, wouldn’t you say, Angelica?”

“At least.”

“Four?” Eliza echoed, astonished. Hamilton had been eating like a bird since getting home from Yorktown. Four helpings of a hearty dinner seemed an unbelievable turn around. When her sisters nodded in unison, Eliza giggled along with them.

“It was like he was trying to do all the eating he’d missed over the past few years in one night,” Angelica observed. “I’ve never seen the like.”

“It’s good,” Eliza decided. “It means he really is feeling better.”

“That’s for certain,” Peggy said before dissolving into another fit of laughter.

The door creaked open again, and the object of their amusement peeked his head around. “Am I intruding?” Hamilton asked.

“Yes, quite,” Angelica replied, grinning at him. “No men allowed.”

Hamilton’s expression turned pleading. “I must beg you to make an exception, Mrs. Church. You see, your father has had me cornered for the past hour discussing trade policy.”

“I thought you liked discussing that sort of thing?” Peggy asked, sitting up on the bed.

“Oh, I like it fine, Miss Schuyler. But I’d much rather be in the company of you three lovely ladies.” Hamilton flashed his charming smile.

Angelica glanced back at them, then agreed, “You may passed temporarily, Colonel, on the condition of good behavior.”

“You are too kind, ma’am,” Hamilton laughed, hurrying into the room. He clambered onto the bed beside Eliza, tucking his feet up to avoid kicking Peggy, who had once again sprawled across the end.

He kissed Eliza on the lips chastely, then leaned over to press a kiss against her bulging middle. Rubbing his palm over her nightgown along her belly, he said, “I want the baby now.”

“You and me, both, dearest,” Eliza assured him. He laughed again, smiling up at her.

“How did you enjoy dinner, Colonel?” Angelica asked mildly.

Peggy let out an unladylike snort before she erupted into yet another fit of giggles.

Hamilton seemed to intuit that they were having a joke at his expense, amusement brightening his features. “Very much, thank you for asking, my dear sister.”

Eliza shook her head at Angelica, trying to warn her off the topic. The last thing she wanted was for her husband to feel self-conscious about eating when he so badly needed to regain the weight he’d lost.

“So, Miss Schuyler,” Hamilton said, pulling his attention away from his unborn child to regard Peggy at the end of the bed, “You must tell me what boy it is you are in love with today.”

Peggy huffed in faux offense. “How rude of you, sir. Are you implying I’m fickle with my affections?”

“Not at all, miss. In fact, I believe you are quite sincere in your attachment to each and every one of your beaus. No, it is they who are hardly good enough for you.”

Peggy blushed at the compliment. “Well,” she began leaning forward on her elbows, “there is a boy.”

“I knew it,” Hamilton grinned in triumph.

Eliza relaxed back against her pillows and let the conversation flow around her. The baby was sapping all her energy, making her feel tired all the time. She rubbed her hand along her side when she felt a firm kick. It had to come soon, right? She couldn’t imagine she could get any bigger.

“Ah, here you all are,” her father’s gravelly voice caught her attention. He was smiling at them from the doorway.

“Just keeping Betsey company, Papa,” Peggy explained.

“That baby should be along any day now,” her father said, giving her an appraising look much as Angelica had when she’d first entered. “Have you thought about names?”

“Oh, yes, names. You must tell us,” Peggy said excitedly, looking at her and Hamilton with big, curious eyes.

Angelica leaned forward in her chair. “Mama says it’s going to be a boy for sure. What would you name a boy?”

Eliza hesitated, looking at Hamilton. She had ideas of course, but she wanted to defer to him, especially if it was a boy. Naming a first born son was no small matter, after all. She suspected he’d name the boy after himself, or perhaps after his father.

“Well, if it’s all right with you, my dear, I’d like to name a boy after one of the men I admire most in the world,” Hamilton answered, looking at her belly with anticipatory delight as he spoke.

Eliza was surprised. Naming children after General Washington was becoming highly fashionable, but she’d never pegged her husband as one to be interested in following the trend. His relationship with the General was…well…complicated seemed the most polite term for it. In her time spent in the company of the two men, she’d seen clearly that Washington held paternal affection for his aid. Hamilton seemed to care for his commander as well, but he was loath to admit it. And he positively balked whenever the General made any kind of affectionate gesture towards him.

“Philip Hamilton has quite a nice ring to it, I think,” Hamilton added.

Eliza was even more shocked. Philip? She glanced at her father. His jaw has slackened and his eyes were suddenly bright. Within a moment, a tear actually fell from his eye.

Hamilton looked around as well, and asked softly, “Are you all right, sir?”

Papa gave Hamilton a watery smile and nodded. He stepped over to the bed without saying anything, clapping her husband on the shoulder fondly as though unable to speak. Hamilton grinned up at him.

“Surely you must know how much I admire and care for you, sir,” Hamilton told her father. “Your warm welcome and support for my joining your family means a great deal to me.”

Eliza felt half tempted to tell her husband to stop, concerned that any more praise would cause Papa to faint from sheer joy.

“My sweet, beloved children,” her father managed at last. He cleared his throat, and added, “I came up here to tell you that Judge Livingston has just stopped by with some more books for your legal studies, my boy. I thought perhaps you might like a word with him? We’re having brandy in my office if you’d like to join us.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, sir.” Hamilton leaned over to kiss her once more, his hand running over her middle again. “I’ll see you later, darling,” he told her. “Unless you see fit to finally deliver me my baby.”

“I’m working on it, honey,” Eliza assured him.

“Work faster,” he pressed teasingly. He dropped a kiss against her belly, and addressing their child, said, “I want to play with you now. You’re taking too long.”

With that, he finally stood from the bed and followed her father downstairs for brandy and conversation about the law.

“Poor Hamilton,” Peggy sighed once they’d disappeared. “Always getting pulled away for boring conversations.”

“I wouldn’t let him fool you,” Angelica retorted. “He seems to quite adore those boring conversations. He’s just equally good at having fun with us. I quite love his agreeable nonsense.”

Angelica and Peggy stayed a while longer, carrying on a conversation almost entirely without her. She must have drifted off at some point, because she opened her eyes to find the room dim, the sun sinking quickly outside her window. Her sisters were gone and the house was quiet.

She pushed herself up in a futile attempt to get comfortable. The baby was kicking again, wriggling in the womb. She smiled down at her middle, holding her hand to her side to feel the little kicks. “I do wish you would hurry along, Philip,” she whispered.

The name felt sweet on her tongue. She’d be thrilled with a little girl, one to dress and teach, but she felt as certain as her mother and Diana that she would have a boy. A little Philip.

The door opened. Her husband slipped in and closed it again with a click. Eliza smiled at him as he glanced at her on his way to the bureau. “No baby yet?” he asked.

She laughed and rolled her eyes at him.

He slowly slid off his tailcoat, then started on the buttons to his waistcoat. Eliza cocked her head to the side as she watched him undress. “Is Judge Livingston staying for supper?” she asked. That was the only reason she could think he would be changing for the evening, and even that hardly made sense. He was wearing one of his better quality coats, finely tailored to his slender physique and made from a fashionable imported French fabric dyed deep blue in color. It was one of Eliza’s favorites, the color bringing out the vivid blue of his eyes.

He shook his head a little and started to remove his stockings and breeches. After he switched out his undershirt for a looser night shirt, he moved over to the bed and flopped down beside her. Heaving a great sigh and grimacing, he placed his hand on his belly and said, “I don’t feel so well.”

Eliza fought down the impulse to smile; he really did look miserable. “Is it from eating too much, sweetheart?”

He wrinkled his nose and nodded. “We had some candied cherries with the brandy,” he told her as he rolled onto his side, cradling his stomach. “I haven’t eaten so much in one day in…years. Maybe ever.”

She could hear his stomach gurgling as it tried to digest the unusual intake. He curled up a little more and added dramatically, “I’m never eating again.”

“Must you do everything in extremes?” she asked affectionately.

He nodded solemnly, which made her laugh. He smiled a little and looked up at her. “Talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just distract me,” he requested.

Eliza considered for a moment. She’d been locked away in this room for over a week, spending most of her time sleeping, sewing, or occasionally reading a novel Angelica had lent her with a plot so trite it did little more than send her back to sleep again. She didn’t imagine any of those things would particularly interest her husband. The baby kicked at her again, and she smiled.

“Give me your hand,” she said. He obeyed unquestioningly. Positioning his hand on her side, she placed her own over it and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

A big smile spread over his face as he felt the baby kicking. “I’ll never get tired of that,” he whispered.

“Well, next time you can be the pregnant one and we’ll see if you feel the same way.”

He laughed, his smile growing impossibly wider. “Next time?”

She sighed fondly. “Of course that’s all you heard.”

After a few minutes, he pulled his hand away with a groan.

“Are you going to be sick?”

“I already was sick,” he said. “How much more can there be?”

“Angelica said something about four helpings,” she replied helpfully.

He moaned miserably in response.

Eliza reached out to feel his forehead, just to be sure his fever wasn’t back. He felt a little clammy, but not hot. She pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into his face and stroked his cheek. He nuzzled his face into her hand, pressing a little kiss against her palm.

“Do you want me to read to you from my terrible book to make you fall asleep?” she offered.

He laughed again and nodded. “Yes, please.”

She reached for the book on the side table and opened it to the place she’d left off yesterday. Sure enough, in less than a chapter, they were both dozing peacefully.

A horrible shooting pain woke her. She gasped, coming abruptly to awareness. She forced herself to breathe through it, and after a minute it faded to nothing. Her belly felt hard under her hand. Sighing, she shook her husband’s shoulder.

He adjusted in his sleep but didn’t wake.

“Hamilton,” she called, shoving him less gently.

“What?” he muttered.

“The baby’s coming,” she told him.

“Oh,” he sighed, nodding a little. The words seemed to sink in a moment after, because he shot up straight in bed and looked at her. “Baby?”

She nodded.

“I’ll wake your mother. And your sisters. And…well, everybody. Do you need anything? Can I do anything?”

She shook her head.

“No, right. Waking people,” he said, frantically scrambling up from the bed and rushing out of the room in nothing but his night shirt.

Childbirth hurt. Her mother and Angelica had kept telling her it wasn’t so bad, but they had clearly lied. After a long torturous night and most of the next day, she at last heard the blessed sound of her child’s first cry.

“A boy,” Diana announced, smiling down at the newborn.

Eliza smiled shakily, craning her neck to see the child. Diana gently wrapped a blanket around the squalling infant, using a corner to tenderly wipe his face off  as she brought him over to Eliza. She reached out, tears of joy and exhaustion running down her face as she held her baby for the first time.

“Hi,” she whispered. “Hi, Philip.”

“All right,” Kitty Schuyler said firmly after a few moments. “Baths for both of you, and this bed needs to be stripped. Then we can introduce this little one to his proud Papa and Grandfather waiting anxiously downstairs.”

Angelica helped her up to get into the bath once it was ready, and Eliza hissed at her sister, “You lied. That was horrible.”

“I know,” Angelica said, looking unrepentant.

“Oh, hush, darling,” Kitty told her from across the room where she was tidying up the baby, who was still crying at the top of his lungs. “You forget the pain right away, I promise.”

Eliza looked back at Angelica, who shook her head. “She’s lying again. You’ll remember,” Angelica whispered.

Eliza laughed, then grimaced as she tried to get to her feet. Her whole body felt tender, sore, and strange. “Easy,” Angelica soothed her. “Take it slow.” Carefully, Eliza inched her way to the waiting bathtub with Angelica supporting most of her weight. The warm water felt heavenly, and she had to fight to stay awake as she relaxed back into the water.

Diana stripped the bedding and cleaned the room thoroughly so that by the time Eliza had pulled herself out of the bath everything looked tidy as ever. Angelica and Diana helped her back into the bed. She curled up on her side and fell into a long, deep, well-deserved sleep, broken only when her mother brought the baby back in to nurse, and even then she wasn’t sure she was entirely awake. 

When she woke fully, sunlight filled the bedroom, shining brightly through the open curtains. She stretched a little and glanced into the bassinet at the side of the bed.

It was empty.

She sat up frantically until she spotted her husband sitting in a rocking chair by the window. He was holding the newborn in his arms, singing softly as he rocked. Both he and the baby were bathed in sunlight. He must have heard her moving, because he looked around and smiled so sweetly that tears sprang to her eyes.

( _Later, much later, she would remember that moment and know she had been given an early glimpse of heaven_.)

The baby gurgled in his arms and he resumed rocking. “How are you feeling, my angel?”

She stretched a little more and considered. “Sore,” she settled on as the best answer.

He nodded. “Diana brought up tea and breakfast a little while ago. It’s still warm if you’d like some,” he offered.

“Did you have some?” she asked him.

He nodded again.

“I thought you were never eating again?” she teased.

He narrowed his eyes and looked around at her. “Do you want breakfast or not?”

She grinned and nodded. “Yes, please. I’m famished.”

He stood from the chair and stepped over to place the baby in the bassinet. Then, collecting the tea tray, he placed it on the bed beside her, sat down, and leaned in to kiss her deeply. “You are amazing,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she replied, patting his cheek before starting on breakfast. She didn’t think bacon and bread rolls had ever tasted so good.

“He’ll likely want his breakfast, soon, too,” she speculated between bites.

Hamilton nodded, staring down at the bassinet. He had a the same look of overwhelming pride that her father got whenever someone mentioned Yorktown, and so far all the infant had done was cry and sleep. Eliza smiled as she watched him watching their infant. “He’s perfect,” Hamilton proclaimed. “Absolutely perfect.”

Eliza peeked over the bed to look into the bassinet as well. “Yes,” she agreed. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended to be a one-shot. I hope the second chapter doesn't disappoint. Feedback always appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

A soft breeze wafted through the open windows now that night had fallen. Late June had brought unseasonably warm weather this year. Eliza flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder before pressing the blessedly cool washcloth against her face. Between the breeze and the cool water, she finally felt comfortable. After she’d finished washing, she turned around and smiled at the scene before her.

Hamilton had already donned his nightshirt and was lying on his side in bed. He’d kicked all the blankets down and had the sheet pulled up to his hip. His handsome face was just visible in the soft flickering candlelight. His bright blue eyes gazed adoringly at their little son, not yet six months old, lying on his back beside him.

She slipped into bed on the other side of Philip. The baby waved his arms in the air and gave her a toothless smile, babbling happily. She dropped a kiss against his head, his wispy hair tickling her nose.

“He’s bound to be an orator,” Hamilton remarked.

Eliza’s smile stretched wider. “Just like his Papa.”

Hamilton sighed. “Maybe. If I ever pass the bar.”

“Of course you will,” she assured him. He’d been studying so hard the past months, practically from dawn until dusk. Even when he put his books away, his mind never truly seemed to stray from the subject of law. (Yesterday, she’d been kissing him in bed, and when she’d moved her attention to his neck, she swore she heard him muttering to himself in Latin.)

Her husband gave her a tiny smile in response. “I hope so.”

“I know you’ll do well. And if you don’t, you will simply try again. There’s no hurry,” Eliza assured him.

He frowned slightly. His eyes fixed on the little boy between them as he seemed to consider her words. “I want us to start our lives together in our own home. The longer it takes me to begin my career, the longer we will need to survive on the charity and kindness of your parents.”

“It’s not charity, sweetheart,” she corrected softly. “It’s family.” It saddened her that he had never had the opportunity to understand the distinction.

His bright blue eyes met hers once more, his expression soft and full of love. “Even so, I don’t want to rely on your father’s generosity forever. I want…I want to make you proud. You and Philip.”

“You already make me proud,” she said sincerely. “And I’m sure your examination for the bar will go well. Judge Livingston said your legal knowledge was very impressive, and you have another month to study.”

He shrugged.

She studied him, wondering how to dispel his lingering insecurity. For the first time, she noticed a thin sheen of perspiration on his face. “Would you like to wash up, darling?” she suggested.

“I already did,” he replied.

Her brow furrowed slightly. The breeze had cooled the room down tremendously. She was surprised he was still perspiring. “Are you hot?”

He nodded a little, but didn’t elaborate. Eliza reached out to hold his hand. His fingers tangled with hers and he smiled softly.

They lapsed into comfortable silence, both staring down at the baby lying between them. Philip wiggled, blew bubbles, and babbled happily for some time before his little eyelids began to droop. Eliza gently picked the baby up and carried him to the rocking chair, singing softly as she rocked him to sleep.

When Philip’s breathing had evened, she dropped a kiss to his head and transferred him to his crib. She whispered, “Sweet dreams, my little angel.”

When she turned back around to go to bed, she was surprised to find that her husband had also fallen asleep, his mouth slack and his breathing even. That was unusual; they typically talked more once Philip was asleep. With his demanding work schedule, their late night talks were her only real, quality time with him. She forced down her disappointment, though, reminding herself that he must be exhausted from studying so much. Blowing out the candle, she slid back into bed and tried not to jostle him. He snuffled and adjusted beside her, but didn’t wake.

~*~

Eliza’s eyes blinked open to her dark bedroom. She waited, expecting to hear Philip give a wail, but the crib remained quiet. Adjusting into a more comfortable position, she closed her eyes again. Just as she began to drift, she heard a choking sound emanate from the corner of the room, followed closely by a heave.

She sat up, registering for the first time that she was alone in bed. Running her hand over her eyes to wake herself up more, she asked, “Honey? Are you all right?”

His only answer was another heave.

Sliding out of bed, she padded over to the corner, just able to make out her husband’s silhouette in the dim light. He was hunched over the chamber pot, retching miserably. She knelt beside him and rubbed his back gently.

When his stomach seemed to settle somewhat, he sat back on his haunches. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered hoarsely.

She didn’t bother responding to the ridiculous comment. Instead, she leaned over to kiss his sweaty brow and asked, “Are you feeling better now?”

“Much better. I think something from dinner just disagreed with me.”

“You’re sure?” she pressed.

“Mmhm,” he hummed, already standing up.

“Do you need anything? Some water? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” he refused. She trailed him back towards the bed, but before she’d climbed back in he asked, “Could you close the window? It’s a little chilly.”

She paused, surprised. The room felt perfectly comfortable to her. Hamilton was gathering the blankets from the end of the bed as he spoke. Supposing he must truly be cold, she reluctantly shut the window. Hopefully the room wouldn’t grow too stuffy.

“Better?” she asked as she crawled into bed beside him.

He hummed again and scooted closer to her, wrapping his arm around her waist to draw her to him. She cuddled up against him and drifted off once more.

~*~

She woke to an empty bed and the sounds of Philip fussing in his crib. Frowning at her husband’s absence, she stretched lightly and pulled herself out of bed. She’d learned not to keep Philip waiting long for his breakfast. His fussing could turn to ear-piercing wails in the blink of an eye.

Once Philip was tended, she changed into a simple lightweight dress suitable for a day of chores and childcare. Angelica and Peggy had both left for the summer, which left Eliza as her mother’s only help in overseeing the staff and tending to her younger siblings. She settled Philip on her hip and made her way downstairs.

Breakfast was set out already, but Eliza passed by the dining room when she saw that the door to her father’s office was closed. She knocked twice and entered.

Stacks of books covered the desk. Three were open in front of her husband, who was seated at the desk scrawling notes. He didn’t look up at her. She doubted he’d even heard her knock, he looked so engrossed in his task.

His eyes looked a little bruised and his face was pale, she noted with concern. She hoped he wasn’t getting sick again. When his quill paused, Eliza cleared her throat to catch his attention. He startled and looked up at last.

“Did you have breakfast, sweetheart?” Eliza asked.

He shook his head.  “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you feeling ill?” she queried, striding closer to him, intending to check him for fever. The morning wasn’t particularly warm yet, but she could already see sweat forming on his brow. “You’re perspiring.”

“I’m fine,” he said sharply. He leaned away from her hand. “I’m very busy right now.”

“You seem a little poorly,” she pressed.

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I’m not a child. I don’t have time for your overanxious coddling today.”

Eliza recoiled from him. He’d never spoken to her like that before. She waited, expecting an apology, but he turned his attention back to his notes. Hurt and anger churning inside her, she stalked out of the office, slamming the door shut behind her. Philip fussed at the noise, but she quieted him down with a hush and a bounce.

She sat down to breakfast after placing Philip into his high chair.

“I heard raised voices. Is everything all right?” Kitty Schuyler asked mildly.

“Other than my husband being mean-spirited and stubborn, everything is perfectly fine,” Eliza replied, cutting into a slice of ham with more force than was necessary.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Kitty said sarcastically. She didn’t press further, however, for which Eliza was grateful.

~*~

The following hours passed quickly. Eliza helped oversee the preparations for dinner, assisted with laundry, and helped her mother with caring for the children. By the time dinner came around, she’d nearly forgotten her husband’s ill temper. It was only when she noticed the office door standing open that her hurt and anger came rushing back.

She took a deep breath before entering the dining room. She would demand an apology, she decided. There had been no cause for him to speak to her like that, and she wouldn’t allow him to sweep it under the rug. Steeling her resolve, she stepped into the room, only to find her husband absent.

“Where is Hamilton?” she asked, looking to her father, seated at the head of the table.

Her father’s brow furrowed. “He went upstairs a few hours ago to lie down, saying something about a headache. I’m surprised he hasn’t joined us. I hope he’s not ill again, poor fellow.”

Concern warred with her anger. She considered checking on him for a moment, until the memory of that morning came back to her. If he had no need of her coddling, then she would enjoy dinner with her family. A thrill of righteous indignation passed over her as she sat at the table.

The feeling didn’t last very long. Her appetite disappeared after a single bite of beef, and her eyes kept drifting to her husband’s empty place at the table. Concern was slowly winning out.

A servant removed her nearly full plate from in front of her. “Would you all excuse me?” Eliza asked before the sweetmeats could be served, already pushing back her chair. “I’m going to look in on my husband.”

She mounted the stairs quickly and turned into her bedroom. Her husband laid sprawled out on the bed, a hefty legal tome beside him. He seemed to be sleeping.

Just as she stepped further into the room, his eyes flew open, making her jump a little in surprise. “You’re awake,” she noted unnecessarily. He met her eyes, and she braced herself for another bout of his temper as she asked, “Are you all right? Papa said you’ve been up here all morning.”

He nodded vaguely, his gaze drifting away from her face down and to her left.

“Hamilton?” she prompted, trying to meet his eye again.

He frowned, pushing himself up in the bed. “What is that?”

She followed his gaze and saw nothing but bare wall. “What is what?”

“That thing? What is it?” he asked again. He looked distressed and fearful as he kept pushing himself further against the headboard. “Get away from it, Eliza.”

“Honey, there’s nothing there,” she tried to assure him. He shook his head stubbornly. Moving over to the bed, she settled beside him and reached out to test his temperature. He was burning with fever.

 “It’s…it’s crawling,” he mumbled. “Crawling all over.”

“Hush,” she cooed, running her hand through his hair.

“It’s wrong. All wrong. The colors are wrong and they won’t see,” he continued. He paused, looking at her, as though waiting for her to respond.

“You’re not making any sense, sweetheart.”

He closed his eyes. “The wheel is spinning. Spinning and spinning. There’s two…two. They have to get out. They have to. I have to….” He moved his legs as if to stand from the bed, but she held him down by the shoulders. She overpowered him easily; he seemed weak as a kitten.

“You have to lie down,” she urged. “You’re ill.”

He swallowed. “Closer. It’s touching. Make it stop.”

“Just rest.”

His eyes closed and his body began to relax. Eliza carefully placed his legal book on the bedside table, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and hurried downstairs.

~*~

Her father sent for Doctor Stringer at once. Eliza sat at Hamilton’s side while they waited for the doctor, pressing a damp rag to his forehead to combat his raging fever. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness, muttering distractedly in both states.

“What’s happened?” the doctor asked, hurrying in less than an hour later.

“He’s feverish. Delirious,” Eliza reported.

The doctor laid the back of his hand against Hamilton’s forehead and shook his head. “You should wait downstairs, Mrs. Hamilton,” he told her, turning to his bag without sparing her another glance.

She hated the idea of leaving him when he was so unwell. As she shifted to lean forward, intending to kiss his forehead, Hamilton’s eyes opened slightly. “’liza?” he muttered.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she assured him. “The doctor’s here. He’s going to look after you.”

“Stay?” he asked, one hand gripping weakly at her arm.

She hesitated, looking back at the doctor.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you this morning,” he told her. “I didn’t mean it. Please don’t leave me.” He looked terribly distressed, his expression vulnerable and pleading.

“I’m not angry with you, honey,” she tried to reassure him. Any anger she had felt melted away when she’d realized how desperately ill he was. Snapping at her this morning had been a symptom of the illness as much as his vomiting the night before.

“Don’t leave me,” he whimpered, heedless of her assurance.

“I’m going to stay,” she said, glancing at the doctor once more. She placed her free hand over her husband’s, still gripping weakly at her arm. “I won’t leave you, my love.”

“Very well,” Doctor Stringer said, sounding less than pleased.

He had a scalpel in his hand as he sat on the other side of her husband. He pulled Hamilton’s arm away from her and positioned it over a basin he’d placed on the bed. The scalpel sank deep into Hamilton’s arm, eliciting another pitiful whimper from him as his blood began to drain into the basin.

“The bleeding will help with the delirium,” the doctor commented.

Eliza looked away from the growing pool of blood and took Hamilton’s other hand in her own, trying to give any comfort she could. When the doctor determined enough blood had been drained, he wrapped a cloth around Hamilton’s arm and placed it tenderly on the bed.

Doctor Stringer then ordered a servant to open the windows and bring warm water, weak wine and chamomile tea. Digging through his black bag, he brought out a packet filled with powder and poured it into the water. “I’ll need your assistance, Mrs. Hamilton. Help sit your husband up, if you will.”

“You need to sit up, sweetheart,” she whispered, sliding behind him to help prop him up. Hamilton groaned at the movement. He leaned limply against her, his head lolling on her shoulder.

“You need to drink, Colonel,” the doctor encouraged, holding the pewter cup with the water to Hamilton’s lips.

Some of the water dribbled out of his mouth. Eliza used the corner of her apron to wipe his face. “You need to swallow, honey,” she encouraged gently.

He got down a few mouthfuls of the water. The doctor retrieved another basin from the bedside table and placed it into her husband’s lap. Hamilton groaned again, suddenly leaning forward and gripping frantically at the basin. A violent bout of vomiting followed.

Eliza’s eyes widened.

“Ipecacuanha,” the doctor explained as he stood once more. “A gentle vomit increases the efficacy of the medications I need to administer.”

“Gentle?” she repeated. There was nothing gentle about what was happening to her husband. His face was red and tears were leaking from his eyes from the force of the heaves wracking his weakened body.

“I did encourage you to wait downstairs, ma’am,” he said, unmoved by her shock.

As if she’d leave Hamilton to suffer this alone. Was this what Stringer was doing to her poor husband that winter, whenever her mother urged her to stay downstairs and leave the doctor to his work? She rubbed Hamilton’s back soothingly and pressed a kiss against his temple between bouts of vomiting. When the heaving finally came to an end, she eased him back against her. The bowl of cool water was still sitting on the table beside her, and she used a cloth to wipe the sick and sweat from his face.  

The doctor poured a different powder into the cup of watered down wine.

“What is that?” Eliza asked, gripping at her husband defensively. She didn’t think he could bear another bout of vomiting. He seemed so weak in her arms.

“Peruvian bark, to treat the fever,” the doctor answered. He held the cup to Hamilton’s lips once more, forcing the liquid into him. Hamilton swallowed weakly.

The doctor nodded approvingly. “He should have some of the tea to settle his stomach. When he feels able, he should eat something light. Chicken broth is often best, but give him whatever he wishes and thinks he can keep down. Don’t hesitate to call for me if his fever rises again. In any event, I’ll come back to check on him tomorrow morning.”

With that, the doctor stood, collected his bag, and exited the room, leaving Eliza holding her weakened husband.

~*~

Eliza came back into the room after feeding Philip, who was spending the night in the nursery with her sister, Kitty. She was surprised to see Hamilton awake; he’d been fast asleep ever since the doctor’s visit hours earlier. Smiling gently at him, she sat beside him on the bed. His lips quirked slightly to return the expression. The little smile eased the tight coil of anxiety inside of her.

“How are you feeling, my love?” she asked softly.

He sighed. “Achy. My stomach’s a little upset.”

“Would you like some more tea?” she offered.

His nose wrinkled. “I’m growing to detest chamomile tea.”

She smiled again. “You seem more like yourself, now. You had me worried earlier.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “For worrying you. And for losing my temper this morning.”

“You were ill.”

“That’s no excuse for snapping at you when you were trying to take care of me.”

“I forgive you,” she assured him.

“Thank you.”

She reached over to the bowl of water, wringing out a cloth and placing it on his forehead again. He gave a relieved sigh. “That feels wonderful.”

Eliza touched his cheek to check his temperature.

“The worst should be behind me now,” he told her.

“You don’t know that.” She ran her hand through his hair gently as she spoke.

He smiled. “I do. I get this every summer. It never lasts long. The fever usually spikes once, then breaks a few hours later.”

“Every summer?” she repeated, stunned.

He nodded. “Ever since I was a boy. There’s really nothing to worry about, Betsey. I always pull through, even when I was alone with no access to medical care. Though, having you here to tend to me does improve the experience a bit.”

It kills her to hear he ever went through this alone. And to suffer it every summer?

He adjusted uncomfortably in the bed, wincing slightly.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head a little. “Just…achy.”

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” he sighed.

“Would a massage help?” she offered.

His bright blue eyes met hers. “A massage sounds heavenly.”

She removed the cloth from his forehead and had him turn over to his belly. Starting with his neck, she slowly kneaded the tight muscles, moving methodically down his shoulders, his back, even massaging his arms. “You’re an angel,” he muttered as she worked her thumb into a tight spot on his shoulder blade. He fell asleep when she was rubbing his lower back.

She tested his forehead for fever once more, gratified to find he felt cooler now. She tenderly tucked the blanket around him. Keeping her husband alive and healthy was proving to be a herculean task, she considered with a hint of a smile, but it was one she wouldn’t trade for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is Eliza's first experience with Ham's relapsing case of malaria. The treatment administered by Doctor Stringer was taken from a book called "Domestic Medicine," written by Doctor William Buchan and first published in 1769. Unfortunately, it would have been considered the best, most effective treatment available.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! Always glad to get feedback!
> 
> Come follow me on tumblr at aswithasunbeam.tumblr.com


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